


Ivy

by gaymer_girl



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eivor Varinsdottir - Freeform, F/F, Falling In Love, Female Eivor (Assassin's Creed), Fluff, Pre-Canon, Randvi gets a backstory (kinda), Romance, Smut, WLW Romance, Yearning, all that good shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28970562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymer_girl/pseuds/gaymer_girl
Summary: Presented to Sigurd as a means to end a wasteful war, Randvi is trapped in a loveless betrothal. The only friend she can count on is Sigurd's sister, Eivor. But when the two young women start developing new and confusing feelings for one another, they must navigate those dangerous waters lest they're found out and the alliance is destroyed.
Relationships: Eivor & Randvi (Assassin's Creed), Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 144





	1. The Bargain

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I ABSOLUTELY wrote this because of Taylor Swift's song "ivy" on her evermore album don't you dare @ me. It's not my fault that she basically wrote a song about Randvi and Eivor. So I have no idea if someone else heard it and decided to write something similar, but if they have, good. We need more Eivor/Randvi content out there.
> 
> Also Randvi's appearance is based on her concept art because I honestly prefer it to her in-game look (she's still bae tho don't get me wrong).
> 
> Anyway, this is this. There will be ten total chapters of that good gay content. Gonna post as often as possible because I apparently have nothing better to do with my time.
> 
> Enjoy my nonsense!

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It wasn’t supposed to end with her hand curled around her tankard with knuckles so white that snow darkened in comparison. With her brow furrowed so tightly that it hurt with each blink. With her mouth fixed in a scowl so deep that she frightened away anyone who tried to approach her. She wasn’t supposed to glance longingly across the room and feel a sharp pain in her chest that made her want to scream.

No… no, it _wasn’t_ supposed to happen this way. And yet there she sat, staring into the piss-colored drink that was meant to numb her woes away. And there _she_ was—standing next to him on the other side of the hall, a smile so fake that it was a wonder how it fooled anyone, and holding onto his arm like a lifeline.

It made Eivor sick.

* * *

Hordaland and Rygjafylke had been at war for years. Why they had endlessly clashed steel, nobody was quite sure. It seemed like the bitterness between them was generational. But in a lull between fights, the king of Hordaland had reached out and offered a peaceful meeting in Fornburg. Tired of bloodshed, Styrbjorn had agreed. At first, both Eivor and Sigurd had protested—it had to be an ambush, a trick, but Styrbjorn was giving the king the benefit of the doubt.

The parlay was to take place at sunrise. Winter was ever-present, but there were glimmers of hope that perhaps spring would come early. But the mornings were still unforgiving and bitter. Naturally, Eivor was not too happy about this arrangement, but she forced herself to dress in her heaviest leathers and warmest cloak anyway. It was important that this parlay was successful, so of course Styrbjorn asked Eivor to attend it if something were to go horribly wrong, gods forbid. She wished that she didn’t need to act as an additional bodyguard, especially since there would be guards aplenty attending the meeting.

She huffed out of her house, grumbling about how damned early it was. Her nose turned bright pink as the frozen air bustled its way around Fornburg. And the second she closed the door behind her, she was immediately met with a face-full of snow. Sigurd was laughing somewhere to her right, his hand slapping Eivor’s back mirthfully as she spluttered and swore.

“I hope that woke you!” he said.

“Fuck you, Sigurd.” Eivor coughed up ice. “I would have woken on my own time.”

“You can’t sleep on a day such as this. You must be on your guard.”

Eivor grunted. “It is a meeting in peace, Sigurd. To end a fight. To be on our guard would suggest we don’t trust them.”

The two of them walked down the path and toward the docks. Eivor rubbed her hands over her face, ridding herself of any lingering bits of melted snow. She was sure her lips were about to turn blue. Fucking Sigurd.

“I _don’t_ trust Kaun. And neither does my father, which is exactly why he asked you to come,” Sigurd said, frowning toward the horizon. “Kaun says he’ll bring an offer we cannot refuse. What is it? A surprise attack?”

“You’re being paranoid, brother.” Eivor shook her head. “If Styrbjorn is willing to see this through, then we must follow his lead.”

Sigurd merely stopped and squinted at the sea as though the fjord would suddenly open up like a gaping maw and spit out the entirety of Hordaland’s army. But the waters were calm, not a forbidding wave in sight. The sky was a deep purple, the sun still shy and sleepy, not yet ready to grace the cold end of winter with a shred of golden warmth. Eivor rolled her eyes and grabbed Sigurd by the arm, dragging him toward the docks again.

“Patience and ease, Sigurd. You’ll go grey with worry by the time they arrive.”

“Don’t you think about what worse men have done? What Kjotve did?”

“Every day of my life—but this clan is not his army. They’ve got nothing to gain from a continuous war.” When Sigurd didn’t reply, Eivor sighed. “But if it’ll ease you, I always have my axe.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Good.”

Styrbjorn was already waiting for them at the docks, accompanied by a few guards. He was deep in thought, stroking his beard as he paced back and forth. He paused only when he spotted his children approaching. He did not smile, but there was still warmth in his voice when he spoke.

“There you are,” he said. “They should be arriving soon—please tell me you’ll be on your best behavior and let me do all the talking.”

Eivor only nodded. Sigurd interjected.

“Why can’t I have a say, Father? If I’m to one day lead our people, I should be able to negotiate with Hordaland all the same.”

“This is too delicate a situation right now, Sigurd. If we want to appease Kaun, we must be smart.” His eyes wandered over to Eivor. “You should behave like Eivor—calm and level headed when she needs to be.”

“She’s still armed to the teeth most of the time,” Sigurd pointed out, and Eivor glared at him.

“My liege,” a guard spoke up. “Their ships.”

Styrbjorn turned and, sure enough, spotted three longships cutting their way through the fjord. Sigurd stood straight up, and Eivor could spy his hand itching to reach for his weapons.

“ _Everyone_ must follow my lead,” said Styrbjorn. “Understood?”

There was immediate affirmation. The sun was starting to rise as the longships grew closer. It certainly wasn’t enough to stage a full-fledged raid on a large, thriving enemy village, but Eivor knew she had taken down larger settlements with less people. It was all about the approach. And they showed no signs of a plan of attack.

At long last, just as the sun started to warm Eivor’s tired face, the longships docked smoothly. The first to set foot on the sea-kissed wood was King Kaun himself. A man who had seen many winters and battles, he was dressed with impressive scars and furs alike. He grinned at Styrbjorn, his beard scraggly and pulling with his equally scrappy smile. He spread his arms, as if to embrace Fornburg, as he walked closer to them. It was an odd greeting from someone who had been leading a bloody war between these two clans.

“King Styrbjorn,” he said, a voice like gravel. “I’m so glad you’ve agreed to this peaceful talk.”

“King Kaun,” Styrbjorn replied reservedly. Still, he accepted Kaun’s outstretched arm. “I only wish to end further bloodshed.”

“As do I.” He acknowledged the welcoming party, but made no mention of the guards. “I’m pleased to see your son has joined us.”

“I wouldn’t leave him out of such an important discussion.”

“And you shouldn’t have to. I’ve heard great things of Sigurd. Ah, and the legendary Wolf-Kissed, of course. It’s an honor to be in the presence of such powerful warriors.”

Eivor and Sigurd exchanged a quick look but said nothing in response. But Eivor could tell that Sigurd was dying to open his mouth.

“Only the best for such a meeting,” said Styrbjorn. “Shall we continue this in the longhouse?”

“Yes, let’s. It’s a bit cold out here for a talk so important.” He waved to his traveling party, and they began to come ashore. He clapped a hand onto Styrbjorn’s shoulder as they started to walk toward the longhouse. Eivor, Sigurd, and the guards followed.

All around them, the village started to wake. Several civilians poked their heads out of their homes or craned their necks to stare at the visitors. Some of Eivor's fellow warriors were frowning, flexing their muscles, daring any of Kaun's people to make a false move.

“Where is this gift you promised my father?” Sigurd blurted, earning a hard elbow in his ribs from Eivor.

“All in good time, my boy,” said Kaun, unbothered. “I promise, even you will enjoy what I have to offer.”

Sigurd grumbled. Eivor hissed in his ear, “Shut your mouth, or your tongue will be on the floor in the blink of an eye.”

“This is a waste of time," he hissed back. "We can take them all if we wanted.”

“A foolish plan, and a death wish. If all goes well, we won’t _need_ to take them.”

They entered the warmth of the longhouse. Styrbjorn took his seat on his throne, Sigurd standing on his righthand side. Eivor, as always, kept her distance and leaned against a pillar nearby to watch the scene. She would be called if she was needed. The guards were milling about in the back of the longhouse, suspiciously eyeing the few Hordaland guards that accompanied Kaun inside.

Kaun was standing before Styrbjorn, still smiling. How he wasn’t grave and grim like Styrbjorn was beyond Eivor. This man had approved the death and destruction of people Eivor had known and fought alongside. She wouldn’t show it, lest it encourage Sigurd, but she wanted to stab the grin off his face. This was a serious meeting, not one for celebration. Not yet, anyway.

“We’ve been fighting for too long,” Kaun began. “Hordaland and Rygjafylke alike have lost too many valiant warriors to Valhalla as it is.”

“We have,” Styrbjorn agreed. “So tell me, what has inspired a desire to put an end to our rivalry.”

“Benefits. We can gain so much more as allies than enemies. All of Norway is fighting, and our own numbers are spread too thin. I’m sure the same can be said for you and your best warriors. So far from home.” When Styrbjorn said nothing, Kaun continued. “The way I see it, if another clan wanted to wage war against either of us, we would be wasting efforts and supplies if we kept getting at each other’s throats.”

“Are you suggesting there is more war awaiting us?”

“I cannot possibly know the future of Norway. All I know is that we don’t need to prolong such meaningless fighting. So I propose not only an alliance, but an alliance by union.”

Theatrically, as he spread an arm out toward the longhouse entrance, a few more of his people walked inside. Four guards flanked a young women about Eivor’s age, just barely seeing the world in her twentieth winters. Her expression was unreadable, her red hair—the color of an autumnal sunset, Eivor thought to herself—pulled back, ornate braids stitched on the right side of her head, and bangs falling into the left side of her face. She had two small tattoos that were visible—Norse knotwork—one above her right brow and another complimenting her right cheekbone.

“What is this, Kaun?” asked Styrbjorn impatiently.

“This is my offer. A _union_ , Styrbjorn.” He beckoned the woman forward, and she fell to his side dutifully. “This is Randvi. She’s my clan’s greatest warrior. Formidable, intelligent, and, as you can see, beautiful. I offer her to _you_.” He nodded at Sigurd. “A betrothal to join our clans by marriage and end the meaningless slaughter.”

Eivor couldn’t help herself, “And she agreed to this?”

Kaun looked at Eivor in surprise, as if he just noticed that she was there. “She understands the significance of this union.”

“But it’s her entire life she’s about to give away, and—”

“ _Eivor_ ,” warned Styrbjorn. “Not another outburst. Please.”

Eivor frowned, but didn’t protest. Nobody noticed, but Randvi spared Eivor a lingering look before returning her attention to the king before her.

“So, a marriage to ensure peace between our people,” Styrbjorn said, tenting his fingers.

“That is, if your son accepts. I assure you, there isn’t a worthier woman in all of Norway for him.”

Styrbjorn considered this. Then he addressed Randvi kindly. “What are your thoughts on this?”

“If it is my duty to my people, then I will give myself willingly,” she replied diplomatically. “This war has taken friends of my own.”

“And Sigurd?” He looked to his son. “She is to be your wife. Do you have any objections?”

Sigurd was quiet for a moment. He moved forward and stood in front of Randvi, offering his hand to her. Eivor’s brow twitched, her frown still plastered to her face. Randvi hesitated for half a second before she took his hand.

“I can promise that you will be happy and taken care of here, Randvi,” he said, voice like honey. Eivor resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “If this is your wish, I will gladly take you as my wife.”

“Then it’s settled!” Kaun shouted. “Our clans will unite as brothers in arms. Let's say a spring wedding so we won’t freeze during the nuptials. And it gives our men time to return home and live to find Valhalla another day. Does that sound agreeable to you, King Styrbjorn?”

“If the young couple does not object, then it shall be so.”

“I’m honored to play this key role in peace, Father,” said Sigurd. “Spring it is.”

The tension in the room eased. Styrbjorn got to his feet and grabbed Kaun’s hand warmly. Sigurd was next, grinning from ear to ear. Randvi took a step back, noticed only by Eivor, and she watched the three men congratulate themselves on a job well done. Eivor leaned off the pillar, the morning sun high enough to start peeking through the cracks of the longhouse. A beam of light caught itself in Randvi’s hair and bloomed across her vision, but the young woman stayed still and made no moves to ease herself from the sun’s power. Eivor almost approached her to introduce herself properly, but it wasn’t long until Sigurd swept Randvi away for a walk.

Eivor watched them leave. Once Kaun followed in their wake to announce the good news to those who joined him on the journey, Eivor confronted Styrbjorn.

“Is this really the best option we have?” she asked him.

“It’s the _only_ option,” he said. “You know as well as I do that such unions as this are not out of the ordinary.”

“Don’t you think Sigurd could have at least had a choice in his bride? Maybe someone who was, perhaps, more enthusiastic?”

“She’s a woman in a stranger’s land, Eivor. She’ll come around. Now, stop worrying about it. You’re not the one getting married after all.”

Eivor almost asked him if he’d offer her to the next king who bargained for peace, but she kept her mouth shut. The conversation was over, and she’d have to deal with the newest development in their clan.

* * *

There was a feast that afternoon that poured well into the evening. And it was indeed the first real moment of peace between their clans. Styrbjorn sent out scouts and pages to retrieve the warriors who were hellbent on fighting the enemy on the borders of Hordaland. There was no more need for continuous bloodshed.

Sigurd got drunk that night, boasting to everyone who cared to listen that he was an engaged man to _the_ most beautiful woman in all of Norway. Dag, the kiss-ass he was, praised Sigurd like he was a god, his face bright pink with mead and belly fat with venison. He kept passing drinks to Sigurd, encouraging this behavior for longer than it needed to go on. Eivor stood among the gawkers who bothered to listen to his rambling. While Sigurd’s nonsensical ramblings were amusing, Eivor saw no reason to smile tonight.

“Did you see her?” Sigurd slurred, nose in his tankard. “Gorgeous. Perhaps a bit rough around the edges, but that’s how they should be, eh?”

“I saw her!” shouted Dag as if anyone cared. “You’re a lucky dog, Sigurd! But she’s even luckier to be marrying you.”

“Dag, I’m afraid I can’t hear you well with your head up Sigurd’s ass,” drolled Eivor.

Dag snarled in her direction, but the others around her laughed. Sigurd either didn’t care or didn’t notice. He kept on drinking.

“You act as though you’ve known her your entire life,” said one of the on-lookers.

Sigurd nodded sagely. “It feels as though I have. She’s very quiet, didn’t say much when we walked, but that’s just fine.”

“Good thing she’s not much of a talker,” Dag said and laughed like a loon. “She can put that mouth to work in better ways.”

Eivor made a note to put _Dag_ to work during training tomorrow so he could regret his loud, drunken stupidity tonight. Or she could punch him in the gut now and not have to worry about it…

“Eivor!” Sigurd said, stumbling a step forward. “What did you think of her?”

“I don’t have a strong opinion, Sigurd. I don’t know her.”

“First impressions! Come out with it—you know… she’s got that same untamed look in her eyes like you do.”

“And where _is_ your bride to be?” Eivor raised a brow. “Shouldn’t she be here to enjoy the celebrations?”

“I saw her not long ago,” interjected Dag.

“And how long ago was that? Five meads in?”

Dag swayed on the spot, hiccuped, and said nothing in response. Just another glower thrown in Eivor’s direction that she assumed was supposed to be threatening. That punch was starting to sound rather tempting.

“You worry too much!” Sigurd said to Eivor. “Have some more fun! This, my friends, is the precursor to the _real_ celebrations at my wedding!” He lifted his tankard, and everyone in their little group, aside from Eivor, hollered joyfully and clunked their drinks to his.

She decided to leave them. She had too much going on in her head to continue to entertain the ridiculous shambles of conversation with Sigurd and Dag. Those two together made Eivor want to slam her head against the wall, and the pair getting drunk was even worse.

Wandering over to a quieter spot of the longhouse was a challenging task, but she managed to find a pocket that didn’t give her a headache. She stared into her drink, catching glimpses of her reflection on the surface of the honeyed mead. Maybe Sigurd was right—and Eivor hadn’t noticed—and Randvi did indeed hold that untamed sparkle in her eyes. And that pained Eivor, if it was true, because she couldn’t see herself being married off to someone at her age when there was still so much to do. She understood rules and traditions. Sometimes it _was_ necessary for clans to join through the promise of marriage. That was not new to her. But there was something else that bothered her about it that she couldn’t quite grasp.

Perhaps it was a necessary evil she’d learn to accept one day. Regardless, she hoped that this would mean permanent peace between their clans. That was the end goal, and so far, it was working rather well.

When she realized that she wasn’t enjoying the feast like she normally would, she pressed her tankard into the hands of Tove, who took it gladly, and left the feast. She bared her teeth as a freezing wind tumbled its way along the path. Home and sleep was calling her name.

She hadn’t gone far when spotted movement in the corner of her eye. A shadowy figure was somewhere in the distance near the end of the longhouse. She walked along the length before she came to the end that overlooked the impressive archery range. And sitting in the dust, head in her arms, was the young woman Sigurd had been bragging about all night—yet did not have by his side.

Eivor was about to turn around and leave her be. She didn’t look like she wanted to be disturbed after all. But Randvi looked up at the sound of Eivor’s boots creaking against old wood as she readied to make her about-face.

“Sorry,” Eivor said softly, as though any louder and she’d scare her away. “I saw someone… I just wanted to see who it was.”

“And now you’ve found out,” said Randvi. “Eivor, right?”

“That’s right. Uh… How are you feeling?” Eivor found herself asking.

“I’m just fine.” She rested her chin atop her folded arms. “I needed a break from the feast, is all.”

“Ah.”

There was a burst of noise from behind her—roaring laughter from within—but it clashed with the cold, blue sight of a woman lost and alone. Should she stay? Should she retreat back to her house and ignore Randvi? Neither of those sounded like the right thing to do, but she had to make a choice fast before Randvi grabbed her axe and lobbed off Eivor’s head for standing there silently like an idiot.

With only the few options at her disposal, she decided to sit beside her. She knew nothing of this woman, and so trying to comfort her was like navigating her longship through deadly icebergs.

She studied the profile of Randvi’s face, especially the tattoos. So simple and small, yet so detailed and impressive. She caught herself staring at the way her hair curled and brushed along her forehead. She admired the ferocity in her eyes, and knew that Sigurd had been right. Eivor carried that same glimmer every day.

She was rather beautiful—that much was undeniable. Kaun said that Randvi was their best warrior, and Eivor wondered how well she’d go up against Randvi in a fight.

“I apologize on behalf of my brother, if you heard any of what he’s barking inside," said Eivor, realizing she had been staring for longer than necessary. "He’s not normally an ass. He can actually be rather charming if he thinks things through first.”

“Is that so?” Randvi said. “His friend doesn’t seem to think he can say anything wrong.”

“Dag’s an ass,” spat Eivor, and Randvi smiled slightly. “Don’t think too hard when it comes to him. He’s been licking Sigurd’s boots for as long as I can remember. He and I never got on well.”

“Because _you_ wish to lick Sigurd’s boots instead?”

Eivor chuckled. “It’s because I _don’t_ lick his boots. And because Sigurd and I grew close as we got older. I know it kills Dag to see Sigurd come to me for council.”

“Is Dag in love with him?”

“Might as well be. They deserve each other.”

The night was still around them. The festivities in the longhouse seemed to be miles away. Crickets that didn’t mind the cold sang their own songs of glory, hiding under the old floorboards and atop barrels. Clouds passed over the face of the moon, cloaking the snow, once blue with the night, with dark shades that rivaled a crow’s feathers.

“May I ask you something?” Eivor said after a while.

Randvi glanced at her curiously.

“Why did you agree to this arranged marriage? You _did_ have a choice, right?”

“Yes, I had a choice.” Randvi sat up and scratched her cheek. “Kaun… he said it was for the best that we form an alliance with Rygjafylke. At first, I thought him mad. But he’s right.”

“But why _you_?”

Randvi furrowed her brows. “Am I not fit enough?”

“No, no!” Eivor shook her head. “That's not what I mean. You look more than capable of taking on anything—which is precisely why I’m asking. Is there a reason he picked you out of any of the other eligible women?”

There was a pause as Randvi thought about it. She let out a sigh, watching her breath ghost out in front of her. “To be entirely honest, I’m not sure why it had to be me. But if it means that our people will find peace, then so be it.”

Eivor stared at her. “Do you want this marriage?”

“It has nothing to do with whether or not I want it.”

“I just know that if _I_ were to—”

“Well, be fortunate that it _isn’t_ you,” snapped Randvi, eyes flashing violently.

Eivor blinked, and she knew too late that she had climbed over Randvi’s walls, invading and plundering a realm she had no right to touch. She was right, Eivor was not in Randvi’s position, and she shouldn’t pretend that she knew everything about what she was going through. Try as she might.

She looked up at the moon as the clouds drifted away, letting it shine down on them with the impressive glow that often lit Eivor’s way when she went on an overnight hunting trip.

“Fair enough,” Eivor said. She got to her feet and dusted herself off. “I am sorry that I overstepped. This cannot be easy for you, I’m sure, but I will not make continuous assumptions on the matter. For now, I’ll leave. If you’re willing, you can come to me next time if you need company that isn’t Sigurd and his troupe of drunks.”

Randvi spared her a final glance. There wasn’t a change of expression, but it was _something_. They held each other’s gaze, and the air did seem to get unseasonably warmer for a moment. Eivor, in a brief panic, cleared her throat, bowed her head, and took her leave.

And there Randvi continued to sit, the sounds of the feast inside muffled, and yet too noisy for any clear thinking. She didn’t like how Eivor poked her nose in affairs she had nothing to do with, and yet it was still nice to have some company. Eivor seemed to care, for whatever reason, and Randvi hoped that she wouldn’t be the only person who did.

She looked back toward the archery range and the pathway that led out of the village. If she really wanted to, she could run away and never look back. She could escape this new life fated upon her by hands that had no business in touching her life.

But she didn’t move. Instead, she furiously grit her teeth as tears built themselves in her eyes. She buried her face back into her arms and started to cry.


	2. In Enemy Territory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evermore? More like Eivor-more, amiright???
> 
> Sorry.
> 
> Here's chapter 2.

Randvi had just landed her longship back home after a four month long journey with her crew, bringing with her a hefty sum of silver and supplies for her people. The sight of her home growing closer as they cut across the fjords called her name like a siren. While she loved going out an seeing the world around her, she loved returning to the familiar even more. It was a reminder of what she fought for, what she was willing to die for, and what motivated her to keep moving forward.

As such, she started grinning proudly as they disembarked, hands on her hips, red hair getting caught in the wind. It was mid-winter, cold as ever, but she didn't care. And her smile only grew when she heard a familiar voice call her name up ahead.

“Randvi!” It was her younger sister, Thora, tearing down the path towards her. Randvi braced herself as the entire weight of Thora was thrown into her arms.

“Thora!” Randvi laughed, stumbling back a couple of steps. No amount of bracing could ever truly prepare her for the impact of Thora's enthusiasm. “I can always count on you to give me a warm welcome home.”

Thora beamed up at her. “Who else is going to do it?”

She was only two years younger that Randvi. She shared the same auburn hair, wearing it in a loose braid that dangled down her back. She had a beautiful knotwork tattoo that curved along the left side of her face. And though she wasn’t keen on seeking adventure like Randvi was, she was always eager to listen in on Randvi’s exploits when her sister returned home. Indeed, she was already tugging on Randvi’s hands, trying to guide her away from the docks and back home.

“You must tell me everything!” she said. “How many people did you fight? Did you get any new weapons? Oh! How about a gift for your favorite sister?”

“Since when have you _earned_ yourself a gift?” Randvi teased.

“I cleaned the house today,” Thora pointed out. “Not to mention, I have to do all the chores by myself when you’re gone anyway.”

“Yes, and you give me those chores to do on my own when I return.”

Thora pouted. “So, no gift?”

Randvi smiled and tapped her chin in mock thought. “It’s possible that I _might_ have found a little trinket that made me think of you.”

“Really!?” Thora clasped her hands in front of her heart. “Oh, Randvi that—! What are you looking at?”

Randvi’s smile flickered as her gaze wandered over Thora’s shoulder. It was Kaun coming toward the pair, flanked by two guards. He was giving her one of his serious looks, so Randvi did her best to be professional.

“King Kaun!” Randvi greeted. “I’m honored to have you as my welcoming party. I hope the prizes we collected for you will be to your liking…” She glanced down at Thora, who seemed just as surprised as she was to have Kaun join them. “Is something the matter?”

“No, Randvi. I’ve been waiting eagerly for your return.” He beckoned her to follow. “Come. We have much to discuss.”

“But Randvi only just got back!” Thora complained, but Randvi put out a reassuring hand.

“I won’t be long, I’m sure.”

“But—”

“Thora, don’t worry. I’ll see you at home.”

Thora wilted, but nodded and made her way back. It ached to watch her leave so soon after returning, but she had to obey her king's orders.

“Right.” Randvi stood up straight. “I’m all yours, my King.”

“Thank you.”

As they walked, Randvi waved to some of her friends as they excitedly welcomed her back. It was like an odd, solemn parade—Randvi following in the wake of the king and his guards as they marched along sullenly. They retreated into the longhouse, and Kaun took his seat at his throne, his guards standing dutifully behind him. Randvi tucked her hands behind her back and licked her lips, waiting for him to speak first.

“I’ll get right to it, Randvi. As you know, we’ve been at war with Rygjafylke for quite some time,” he began. “One of the many kingdoms we’ve gone toe-to-toe with over the years. I fear that engaging in this continuous war with them has weakened our own defenses across Hordaland.”

“We’ve been gaining ground back, haven’t we?” said Randvi. “We’ll have our victory if we hold on a while longer.”

He lifted his hand, silencing her. Kaun then tugged on his beard in thought. “I’m afraid it’s too risky a move to hold on. I’m going to be sending a scout with a message to King Styrbjorn in the coming weeks, offering an end to the bloodshed.”

Her eyes widened. “ _What_? You’re giving up?”

“I am _not_ surrendering. I am asking for an alliance between Hordaland and Rygjafylke so we may strengthen our army once again before we become spread too thin.”

“And what will you give them to make sure this alliance is honored?”

“That, Randvi, is where you come in.”

“Me? Do you need an ambassador to go with the scout, or…?”

Kaun sighed and shook his head. “That position is already taken, I’m afraid. No, Randvi. What I’m going to ask of you is… well, it’s the only option I see that would solidify this alliance.”

Randvi was silent, hoping to the gods that he would just come out and say it. The guards behind him exchanged nervous looks.

“I will be offering _you_ to Styrbjorn’s son, Sigurd. As his wife.”

The room began to spin. Randvi’s stomach churned. She shook her head slightly, laughing hollowly as she said, “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I misheard you.”

“I know you heard me clearly,” Kaun said gravely. “I’m sorry, Randvi. This is to restore peace. You are the best we have in the best of ways.”

“Shouldn’t I be on your front lines and fight for us instead?” Randvi demanded hotly, all decorum forgotten. “Where’s the honor in throwing this war away!?”

“We are ending a meaningless fight—”

“Meaningless!?” Randvi wanted to throttle him. Even the guards got a bit rattled, unsure if they should restrain her, hands twitching and looking to Kaun for guidance. “The people who lost their lives—are _they_ meaningless? Was my _father_ meaningless?”

Kaun, however, was patient. “Randvi, calm yourself, please. You’re an intelligent young woman, and you have the makings of a fine war-chief, but this? Fighting? We can be living to fight another day.” When Randvi ducked her head, he continued, almost apologetically, “There is honor in this, too. It’s a duty to your people. Surely you understand that more than anyone. A betrothal will ensure that our two clans will become one under this union. There would be no reason to fight when you two are joined as husband and wife.”

“I have a life here,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. “My sister—I’m all she has. I can’t just leave her.”

“Thora is not a little girl anymore. She’s twenty winters, and she is more than capable of taking care of herself.”

Randvi closed her eyes, suddenly feeling very small under the King’s commanding presence on his throne. She never saw herself in such a position. He usually held her in such high regard, requesting her for council if he needed an additional guiding hand. He sang her praises during feasts, often asking where she planned on sailing to next whenever the sea called her name. He respected her, and Randvi carried that with her and nurtured it to remain in his good graces.

But what he was asking for…

“Give it some thought,” he said finally. “Come see me in the morning, and we’ll discuss it further.”

Randvi simply nodded meekly and left the longhouse.

* * *

“You can’t let him!” Thora was shrieking as she made them dinner that night. “Randvi, you can’t leave everything behind and marry the enemy!”

Randvi was sitting by the window, staring longingly at the docks where her ship bobbed up and down with the tide. She wanted, more than anything, to grab Thora and run off beyond the borders of Hordaland. But that would only spell trouble for the both of them.

“I don’t think I have much of a choice,” said Randvi quietly.

“And why not?” Thora scoffed. “Kaun can’t control you or your fate.”

“He’s our _king_ , Thora. I’m afraid that he has more of a say than we wish. Alliances formed through marriages are not out of the ordinary. If he feels that this is what's best, then I can't go against his word."

"Why did he let you think on it, then?"

"I'm sure it's more of a courtesy to allow me to digest the news."

“This isn’t fair! Why can’t someone else do it!?” Thora was getting so hot and bothered that she nearly knocked the cooking pot over. “What about Gerda!? She’s not married! She’s got good birthing hips. Freyja clearly favors her, and if _I_ were Kaun, I'd choose her out of everyone else! Or how about Sif? She doesn't have a husband either!”

As Thora continued to babble on and on about who would make a better bride to Sigurd Styrbjornson, Randvi kept mulling over the request in her head. Truly, she did _not_ know why it had to be her. She thought she was more than just a woman fated to be a housewife. She didn’t mind the concept of marriage, and plenty of her friends were happy being housewives to their loyal husbands, but she would have preferred to wed someone she loved, if she ever decided to wed at all.

Being a bargaining chip… it was almost insulting to be reduced to such. It drove her absolutely mad. She felt as if she were giving up on everything she believed in and fought for—like her pride in her people and herself was being stepped on by the boot of the enemy that Kaun decided to fashion for himself.

And yet, Kaun had a point. This war was raging for too long. Great warriors, dear friends of Randvi, and even her father had fallen to the strength of Rygjafylke’s numbers. They had found Valhalla—she hoped—but perhaps they found it too soon.

Perhaps it _was_ the best option to end the war as peacefully as possible. Randvi wasn’t foolish. She knew that alliances built without a strong foundation could crumble with the simplest sigh. It could be from Hordaland or Rygjafylke, but it would just start the fighting all over again. 

Once or twice, Rygjafylke had inched their way closer to their borders. Those were frightening times, fighting by the skin of their teeth to keep their lands to themselves. Randvi once led a charge of twenty warriors against the army, driving them away before they got too close to home. Randvi’s blood had roared in her ears, thinking that if they reached her village, Thora’s own life would be in danger. She couldn’t let that happen.

With the pros outweighing the cons on how to proceed with Kaun’s request, Randvi knew that she had little choice. So, if the only viable option was a betrothal…

“I accept,” Randvi said to Kaun the next morning, entering the longhouse with those words and all the power she had left. And as she said them, it was as though every year she spent as a wandering warrior was sapped from her, reducing her to the bargaining chip that Kaun was going to play.

He stood from his throne and gripped her shoulders. “Thank you. Truly, Randvi, I cannot thank you enough.”

With an effort, Randvi smiled ruefully at him. Plans for her departure were underway immediately, and her life at home dwindled as time passed her by.

* * *

The day after the feast celebrating the betrothal between Sigurd and Randvi, she saw her old clan off at the docks. Kaun was admiring the view of the fjord when Randvi cleared her throat to earn his attention. He turned and grinned widely at her. She did not smile back.

“What do you think of Fornburg? A pleasant little borough, is it not?” he said.

“It’s… quaint,” said Randvi.

“I know you still have your reservations, but I'm positive you will come to find something worth enjoying here,” he promised, patting her arm. “You’ve got strength of mind, body, and heart.”

“I know it will take time,” she said.

“It will.” He nodded sagely. “But by spring, you might have a change in tune. And perhaps you might even let a real love blossom between you and Sigurd, eh?”

“Perhaps. Please give Thora my love when you return.”

“I shall. See you soon for the wedding. I’ve got warriors to bring home.”

Kaun gave her one last, reassuring clap on the shoulder before he boarded his longship. And she watched them carve a path across the fjord and over the horizon, an ache in her chest that burned like hellfire.

“Don’t worry,” a voice said behind her. It was Sigurd, accompanied by Dag. “You’ll see them again sooner than you think.”

“I know,” she replied. But that wasn’t why she gazed so longingly at the freedom just barely out of reach.

“Too soon if you ask me,” sniffed Dag.

“Nobody asked you,” said Eivor as she approached them next. “But you and I have some business to tend to.”

Dag frowned at her. “Me? What business do you have with me?”

“You’re going to scrub the longship.”

“I have a hang over.”

“I’ll hang you over a cliff if you don’t get to work.”

Dag swore and protested as Eivor grabbed him by the arm and marched him over to the awaiting longship. Sigurd stood at Randvi’s side instead.

“Don’t mind them,” he chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.”

Randvi didn’t answer him. She forced herself to look away from the fjords and walk back toward the longhouse to sit on her own for some time.

Sigurd wasn’t a bad man. He was genuine and kind, perhaps a little too loud at times, but otherwise not the worst man to be betrothed. She just wished she could find a reason to warm up to him quicker. There were indeed fates worse than this. But through the haze of a destiny carved _for_ her rather than one she carved herself, it was hard to find the brighter side.

* * *

As expected, she was met with some resistance during her first week. She mainly kept to the longhouse where she was staying, but when she did venture into the village, there were some suspicious glances and frowns sent her way. Despite the feast marking the beginning of the end of their war, there were still warriors out there. There was no union between Sigurd and herself yet. It would be a couple of months before their marriage sparked the _true_ end to the bitterness between their people. At any point, Sigurd or Styrbjorn could change their minds, and then Randvi would be at the mercy of the people.

She hated sitting and waiting for the wedding. Even when Sigurd would stroll up to her for a chat, Randvi felt like a prisoner of war.

She might as well have been.

The only one who treated her with any sort of respect was Eivor. Despite how Randvi snapped at her during their first conversation, Eivor went out of her way to greet Randvi if they crossed paths. It was definitely a welcomed interaction after experiencing one too many sneers from the people who lived around her.

She was a curious woman, to say the least. Speaking out so boldly during the parlay in Randvi’s defense. It had actually surprised her, warming her for just a moment before it froze into the cold shield she carried with her for her entire walk with Sigurd after the fact.

On a partly cloudy morning, Randvi found Eivor sharpening her axe outside a quaint house that rested on an incline behind the longhouse. Her breath was huffing out in smoke as she put muscle in each swipe of the whetting stone. Her braids were messier than they had been when she first saw her, blonde hairs falling into her face. Those piercing blue eyes were still sticky with sleep, blinking slowly beneath a furrowed brow. She was a sight to behold, if Randvi was being honest with herself.

By the gods, she wanted to fight her to see how powerful she was.

Randvi approached her with caution, unsure if Eivor was keen on speaking in length again after Randvi had snapped at her. Eivor did not notice her at first, but she did look up promptly when Randvi cleared her throat.

Indeed, she was surprised, but pleasantly so. “Randvi.” She set down her axe and got to her feet. The first sign of real respect in a village full of skeptics was a breath of fresh air. “Did you need something?”

“I… No. I just wanted to talk.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

Randvi rubbed the back of her neck. “I wanted to apologize for getting angry with you that night. You were only expressing concern.”

“You had every right to be angry with me,” Eivor insisted, shaking her head. “I was overstepping. You’re right—I don’t know what you’re going through and should not talk about things that don’t concern me.”

“You were only trying to help.”

“I have to hand it to you, Randvi. I was afraid you were going to send me to Valhalla with a single glare.”

Randvi smiled in spite of herself. “Yes, well… I still wanted to express that I appreciated your intentions in the end.”

“Glad to know.” Eivor reached down and grabbed her bow and quiver. “Now, I was about to go hunting. Would you like to join me? Let out any anger you might—”

“Yes!” Randvi cut in. Eivor raised her brows at her, and Randvi flushed. “Ah, that would be helpful. Thank you, Eivor.”

Eivor grinned and sheathed her axe, shouldering her bow and quiver. “Let’s grab you a bow from Gunnar. He’s got the best weaponry in all of Rygjafylke. Perhaps all of Norway.”

She led Randvi over to Gunnar’s smithy. He was hard at work as they approached, his bald head shining with sweat, the heat of his forge something Randvi would have been glad to sit beside to get away from the cold. Eivor rapped her knuckles on the yawning frame of his shop.

“Gunnar. May I buy a hunting bow a few arrows, please?” she asked.

“Something wrong with yours?” he replied, looking up at her from beneath his brows.

“Randvi needs it. She and I are going hunting.”

Gunnar glanced at Randvi, and she knew exactly what he was thinking—can she be trusted? But before Randvi could plead her case, Eivor deposited a healthy sum of silver and slammed it atop a nearby table.

“Will this cover the cost?”

He turned his attention to the silver immediately. He abandoned his forge and counted out the money, his mustache twitching with a grin.

“More than enough.” He shuffled over to a rack of bows, snagged one, and grabbed a quiver on his way back over. “Here we are.” He handed it off to Randvi. “Happy hunting.”

“Thank you, Gunnar.”

Randvi tacked on her own quiet thanks before following Eivor out and toward the village exit. She was waiting for someone to stop them, to demand to know where they were going, but it was almost as if Eivor was an untouchable force. Even the two guards posted at the path into the woods didn’t bother to ask Eivor what she and Randvi were intending on doing. They just nodded respectfully and kept to their posts.

When they were finally far enough away from Fornburg, Randvi let out the biggest sigh of relief. A weight lifted from her shoulders, and she immediately grabbed her axe and threw it at a nearby tree with all the force she could manage. Her grunt echoed in the forest as she let go, brow clouding over as she watched her axe sail and _thunk_ into the trunk of her target. Eivor stared at her, wide-eyed, as Randvi marched over to the axe, dislodged it, and threw it at another tree to begin the process all over again.

“You know,” Eivor said slowly, “we _do_ have training dummies if you’ve been meaning to practice.”

“I’m not practicing,” Randvi said. “I just… I need to get this out.”

“Right…”

Eivor watched the show, leaning her shoulder against a tree that was out of Randvi's line of sight. A few tosses later, Randvi stopped, shoulders heaving. Her hand was gripping the hilt of her axe, still stuck in the tree, her forehead pressed to the trunk, staring down at the snowy ground. Slowly, Eivor made her way over to the frozen woman.

“Are you finished?” she asked.

Embarrassed, “Yes.”

“It’s all right, Randvi,” Eivor said.

“No, it’s not. Back home, I didn’t have to toe around my neighbors.” Randvi ripped the axe from the tree and threw it to the ground. It lacked the satisfying clang it would have had against anything other than snow. It sank into the slush instead. “I could go out and hunt without someone itching to kill me. I was an honored warrior. I had friends who I could turn to when I needed them. Now? Now everyone here assumes the worst about me simply because I’m the enemy.”

“You’re _not_ the enemy,” said Eivor. “The fight is over. Once you marry Sigurd—”

“And _that_.” Randvi bent down and snatched her axe. She lobbed it wildly and it smacked against a tree, the blade missing its mark. It bounced off the trunk and landed back in the snow. “I have a duty to my people, but it’s hard to follow through when the people I’m supposed to join think I’m some Hordaland spy.”

“You’ve barely been part of our clan. They’ll get over it in time.” Eivor walked over to Randvi’s axe. She picked it up and spun it between her fingers as she made her way back to Randvi. “Now, if you’re willing to channel your frustration into something more productive, why don’t I show you my favorite hunting spot?”

She offered the axe to Randvi, who looked from the weapon, to Eivor’s face, and back again.

“Why are _you_ being so kind to me? You look like someone who’s seen many great battles and must have a keen intuition.”

“You are correct on both counts. As such, my intuition tells me that you’re a wayfaring warrior who got herself trapped in a difficult situation.”

“I told you: I agreed to it.”

“Still a bit of a trap: marrying a man you don’t know.”

Randvi hummed. “It’s a fate I must live with.”

“You’ve got an intuition of your own, and I’m sure you’ll make the best of this woven fate, then.” Eivor pressed the axe into Randvi’s hands. “Let’s go kill something.”

As Eivor brushed by her to trek further down the path, Randvi smiled, Eivor’s bluntness oddly refreshing. She followed after Eivor, sheathing her axe and pulling her cloak closer to herself.

* * *

They hunted for a few hours. Randvi let Eivor take the lead. It was like she was watching an artist at work: she’d crouch and observe a mess left behind—broken branches, sullied snow, paw prints—and then move forward, nimble as a cat. Randvi would hold her breath as she walked in Eivor’s footsteps, not wanting to disrupt her concentration with a sigh that was too loud.

They found a few hares blending in with the snow. Randvi even bagged a fox that was trying to escape their line of sight. Eivor, impressed, commended her on her efforts today, and suggested they head back with their prizes.

Their return home was quiet, but Randvi didn’t mind. Eivor did not press conversation out of Randvi like she was a captive. Sigurd had tried and tried again to get her to talk when they were in the same space, and she would give him enough of a response to satiate him until next time. It was obnoxious, though. Couldn’t he see that she still needed to get used to her new arrangement?

Although, Randvi knew that she wasn’t making it easy on him.

Why was she giving _Eivor_ an easier time? It wasn't like they were talking very much, but the world shined just a bit brighter and the silences were bearable. They simply existed around one another in a manner that felt familiar, and Randvi was drawn to that feeling like a moth to a flame.

As they walked, Randvi glanced at Eivor, lingering on the gnarly scar on her neck. It wasn’t the only scar that Eivor had—the two above her lip were hard to miss—but this one was rough, told stories of something great and horrible that gotten a grip on Eivor. Randvi wanted to ask, but feared that she might push the bounds of what Eivor was comfortable talking about. It was too early in this… odd companionship for Randvi to be asking personal questions.

Instead, she said, “Thank you, Eivor.” She toyed with the string of her bow, strumming it along her fingers. “For today and for everything else. I appreciate you giving me a chance.”

Eivor shrugged. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“I’m sure someone from my clan has clashed with you in the field of battle, no?”

“It’s very possible, but times and people change. I’ll admit, I was weary of the meeting Kaun set up. Not because of you, of course.” Eivor hitched her kills a little higher on her shoulder. “But because I wasn’t sure if we could trust someone we’d been warring with for years.”

“A fair reason to be cautious. What made you change your mind?”

“Well, it was a successful alliance, wasn’t it? No blood was shed that day. I was ready to kill the second one of them slipped up, but nothing of the sort happened.”

Randvi smirked. “You almost sound disappointed that it went well.”

“I’ve been asked to stay in Fornburg for some time, and I’ve been dying to kill something that isn’t small and furry and doesn’t put up a fight.”

“You could always seek out a bear,” Randvi pointed out.

Eivor laughed. “Maybe next time we hunt, we’ll track down a bear or two.”

Fornburg was coming into view, the sun beginning to streak the sky with pinks and oranges as the day was nearing its end. Randvi was sad to see her time with Eivor was coming to its own close, but she was keen on getting her out in the field again.

“I do hope you’re serious about going on another sometime,” said Randvi before she could stop herself.

“I am. I want to witness Randvi of Hordaland take down a bear with a single arrow.”

Humorously, “It’ll be a story you can sing around the hearth the next time we all feast, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna wait until Monday to post this but I changed my mind. Hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Opening Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Randvi's got some champagne problems with Sigurd.
> 
> I don't know if these are even decent "evermore" jokes... well, I wouldn't call them jokes, but for lack of a better word, I'll say jokes for now.
> 
> Play on words? Shitty puns?
> 
> Whatever. Chapter 3 here we go!

“So, how did you get that scar?” Randvi asked.

She and Eivor were on another hunt, sticking close to the coastline in order to snag some blubber from the seals that loafed about the shore. For the past few days, every time Eivor decided to seek out some game, she asked Randvi if she wanted to come along. Randvi was more than happy to accompany her—anything to get here away from Sigurd and Dag for a few hours.

At first, Eivor didn’t answer her question, and Randvi was readying herself with a frantic apology. Then Eivor paused their walk along the beach and rubbed her neck, almost as if she were tapping into the memory.

“A wolf,” she said simply. “I was nine.”

“ _What_?” Randvi gasped.

“My village got raided. My parents were killed, but I managed to escape with Sigurd’s help—we got separated, a wolf found me, attached itself to my neck and bit me. It’s a little blurry after that.”

“That’s why they call you Wolf-Kissed,” Randvi deduced needlessly.

“It is.”

Randvi shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you survived that.”

“Neither could anyone else.” Eivor pressed forward, nocking an arrow and aiming it at a seal that basked in the winter sun. “Yet here I stand with a title to bear and a scar to prove it.” She let her arrow loose. It zipped through the air and landed a clean, instant kill on her prey.

Randvi blew air into her hands in a sad attempt at keeping them warm, unsure of what else to say about Eivor’s nickname. She simply walked in her wake toward the seal, Eivor swatting away a few greedy gulls with the end of her bow.

Eivor didn’t _look_ angry or upset, but Randvi still didn’t know her all too well. She couldn’t read Eivor with ease like Randvi could do with others—that, or Eivor was incredibly talented at keeping a stoic face at all times to deter anyone who attempted to actually get a clue on what she was thinking. Stoic or grumpy, Eivor’s forte expressions.

“Sigurd is not your real brother,” Randvi said finally.

“For all intents and purposes, he is my real brother. He and Styrbjorn have always treated me as a member of their family ever since they took me in.” Eivor wasted no time in skinning the seal. “I would be dead without them.”

Randvi nocked an arrow as she scanned the area around them, looking for an extra kill as Eivor worked. “That was noble of them.”

“I owe them so much, and I do my best to repay such kindness when I can."

There was a lull, the only sound coming from Eivor's knife cutting into her prey. Randvi would look down at her every now and again to check how far along she was before looking back out at their surroundings. At long last, Eivor got to her feet once she finished, packing away all she had collected.

“Right. Let’s go down this way. I think we can get a few more before the sun starts to set.”

They walked along the shore again, Eivor kicking a few pebbles as she went. Randvi looked up at Eivor’s raven companion: Synin. She was a curious bird, but accompanied Eivor everywhere she went. It was odd how Randvi hadn’t noticed their feathered company on their first hunt, but now Synin was like an old friend. A constant watch to alert them to impending danger in case Eivor missed the chance to miraculously detect it. Randvi was convinced that the bird and the woman were intertwined somehow, but she wasn't so sure. She almost got tangled with a rather territorial buck a couple of days ago, but Eivor took it down before she had the chance to notice that the buck was charging at her. The crazy thing about it was that Eivor’s back had been to both Randvi and the animal and yet, somehow, sunk an arrow in its heart without missing a step.

Randvi wanted to know how the hell Eivor did that. If nothing else, she wanted to learn it for herself.

As they followed the shoreline, the frothy waters lapping by their boots, Randvi looked out toward the ocean. She wondered how far Hordaland was… she wondered how Thora was doing without her.

“I have a sister,” she told Eivor, hoping that talking about her would help ease the pain.

“Do you?” Eivor looked at her from over her shoulder. “Is she as wild as you?”

“She’s no warrior, but she does have a wildness to her when she opens her mouth,” said Randvi with a small laugh. “She’s been our merchant’s apprentice for some time now. More interested in trading and the like.”

“Not a bad life. What’s her name?”

“Thora.”

“Ah, yes. Thor is her namesake. A strong name.” She nodded in approval. “I’m sure you miss her.”

“More than anything.” Randvi sighed heavily. Talking about it was a bad idea—it only made the pain worse. “Leaving her was the hardest part.”

* * *

Randvi was getting one last look of her home. The simple house had sheltered many members of her family throughout their generations, and now it would just shelter Thora on her own. It was worse for wear, but still sturdy and strong.

She was about to embark on the journey to Fornburg in a few moments, the entire village abuzz with preparing the party for its departure. The scout and ambassador that Kaun sent ahead once Randvi had given her word had returned only two days ago with affirmation that Styrbjorn was open to discussing peace. Randvi had been slammed with conflicting feelings—she was relieved that Styrbjorn was open at all, but her heart sank at the realization that it was the first step into her new life.

But the worst of it all was when Kaun denied Thora’s request to join them on the trip into Rygjafylke. Thora pleaded with him, begging to see her sister off in Fornburg, but Kaun put his foot down. He told Thora and Randvi that if the talks went awry, he didn’t want Thora in the middle of it. In addition, he feared Thora’s passionate love for her sister, as pure as it was, might disrupt her judgement and make her say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Randvi knew that Kaun had a point. It would already take all Randvi had to keep herself quiet. She didn’t need to spend what little energy she had left keeping Thora in check.

“Will you come back?” Thora asked in a small voice.

Randvi looked into the doorway of the house. Thora was standing there, fiddling with her hands and tears running like rivers down her cheeks. She looked so small, framed by the darkness of the house behind her.

“I… I don’t know,” said Randvi tightly.

“You’ll try, won’t you? To visit?”

Randvi could barely look her in the eye. “Thora, the future is uncertain. If the opportunity presents itself, yes. I will visit. But I cannot promise anything until I know.”

It shattered her heart into a million pieces to see Thora’s lips quivering, to see her shoulders shake with each little sob. Randvi simply opened her arms, and Thora rushed into her embrace, crying into her big sister’s shoulders. Randvi blinked back her own tears, trying to be strong for them both.

But that didn’t last.

Her arms tightened around Thora and she buried her face in her hair, tears cascading with abandon. She could leave everything else behind—her axe, her wild hunts, her longship—but leaving Thora was the worst of it all.

“Randvi, please don’t go,” Thora begged. “Please, please, _please_ don’t leave me.”

“I would stay if I could,” said Randvi. “You know that.” She leaned out of their hug to brush Thora’s stray hairs from her face. “But you’re so strong. Just like Thor. I know you’ll be fine without me.”

“But you won’t be without me,” Thora insisted.

“You’re right. I won’t.” Randvi kissed her forehead. “I’ll write you. I can promise that much.”

Thora sniffled thickly and nodded, wiping under her eyes.

She accompanied Randvi to the docks where Kaun was waiting with the traveling party. The two sisters shared one last lingering hug before Randvi boarded Kaun’s ship. She watched Thora shrink into a small dot as they sailed away, and Randvi kept her eyes fixed on what was behind her for the rest of the journey.

* * *

"Even now, I can see Thora’s heartbroken face so clearly in my mind’s eye," Randvi sighed. "It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do." Eivor had listened to Randvi recount her departure from Thora with sincerity. She even slowed her pace so she could walk alongside Randvi rather than in front, still giving her undivided attention. “She was my everything. Our mother died from an illness when we were very young. My father died in battle against your people a few years ago. It’s been the two of us ever since.”

“I’m sorry, Randvi.”

“Don’t be. You’re not the one who threw an axe at my father or caused my mother to fall ill.” Randvi sucked in a cold breath, bracing and shaking herself from the old memories. “It’s all in the past. I’ll write to Thora soon.”

“I hope she’ll at least attend your wedding,” said Eivor.

“I think she’d kill Kaun if he tried to stop that from happening,” said Randvi humorously. “You’ll meet her soon enough.”

“I look forward to it.” Eivor suddenly stopped and pointed, her hunting instincts kicking in without missing a beat. “There. See them?”

Randvi’s attention snapped from storytelling to hunting. And indeed, there were two seals enjoying the sun as their fallen brother had moments before. She nodded and pulled back her bow, Eivor copying her. In perfect, silent sync, they unleashed their arrows and killed their prey without waking either seal and alerting it to its similar fate. They never knew what hit them.

“Good work,” Eivor complimented.

Randvi smirked at her. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I should hope that I’m somewhat skilled,” chuckled Eivor as they made their way to collect their winnings.

“I should thank you again for being so kind to me.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me. I enjoy your company.”

* * *

As they approached Fornburg, the sun was beginning to set and give way to the power of the moon. Sigurd was waiting for them at the hunting hut. Dag was with him, as usual. Eivor greeted Sigurd and ignored Dag, as usual. As she delivered the kills she and Randvi had taken together, Sigurd pounced on the opportunity to chat with his betrothed.

“How was the hunt?” Sigurd asked.

“It was rather pleasant, actually,” said Randvi. “Eivor is an excellent shot with her bow.”

“Randvi got a few kills herself,” said Eivor. “I’ll be taking her on my trips more often.”

“I’m happy you two are getting along,” said Sigurd. Dag huffed.

“Something you want to add?” Eivor shot at him.

“No,” said Dag shortly.

“I should go get something to eat,” said Randvi. “Thanks for the hunt, Eivor. And thank you for listening.”

Eivor nodded her head respectfully. “Of course.”

Randvi said goodbye to Sigurd and Dag before making her way toward the longhouse. Sigurd frowned after her, rubbing his hands together in thought. He rounded on Eivor, who was about to take her own leave and head on home.

“Eivor,” he called for her attention before she could get too far.

“Sigurd,” she replied, raising her brows.

“Is Randvi actually _talking_ to you?”

"Uh, did you go deaf while she and I were speaking just now?"

"No, I mean on your own. During your hunts!"

“Well, yes. We don’t just hunt in complete silence. That’d be unpleasant.”

Sigurd growled in frustration. “She barely says two words to me whenever I try to speak with her. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong!” Dag said. “It’s her who’s got the problem.”

“Dag is only right on one count: you’re not doing anything wrong, Sigurd,” said Eivor, rolling her eyes at Dag. “Randvi is in a very difficult situation. Imagine how you’d feel in her position—marrying a man you don’t know.”

“But I _am in_ her position!” Sigurd cried. “I’m marrying a woman I don’t know, but at least I’m trying to get to know her.”

“Sigurd, her entire life was yanked out from under her.” Eivor gestured toward the longhouse. “You stayed where things are familiar. You were given Randvi as a means to an end. Randvi left everyone and everything she knew behind. I know if I were her, I’d have a very difficult time adjusting to a place that houses those I considered enemies.”

“I’m trying to talk to her, Eivor. It’s like prying open a rusty chest.” He eyed Eivor up and down. “She’s told you stories of herself, correct?”

Eivor shrugged. “Not many, but I’ve got some idea of what kind of life she had back in Hordaland.”

“Can you tell me what she said?”

“What? No—absolutely not!”

Sigurd’s face clouded over. “And why not?”

“It’s not mine to tell.” Eivor shook her head. “For all I know, she told me everything with the confidence that I wouldn’t repeat it to others.”

“Just fucking tell Sigurd!” Dag snapped. “By Odin’s beard, Eivor, it’s your duty as his—”

“Sigurd is my brother, _not_ my king yet. And _you_ have no authority to order me around, either.” Eivor barred down on Dag dangerously. “And I’ll thank you to remember that the next time you swear at me.”

“Eivor, I’m getting nowhere with Randvi,” Sigurd said, stepping between her and Dag before either of them started a fight. “I’m asking you, as your brother, to just tell me one thing.”

Eivor looked him right in the eye and said, “No. If you want Randvi to open up to you, maybe you should spend some more quality time with her.”

“What, like you’re doing?” said Dag from over Sigurd’s shoulder. “Sigurd barely gets a chance to talk with her since she’s always traipsing around with _you_.”

Sigurd blinked. Eivor resisted the urge to strangle Dag with her bare hands.

“Dag has a point,” said Sigurd slowly.

“I’m offering her a chance to get out and see the hunting spots around Fornburg! She comes to me and asks when I’m off to hunt next, and—” Eivor threw her hands up in the air frustratedly. “You know what? I don’t have to defend myself. I’m doing what I can to make Randvi comfortable. Sigurd, if what you’re doing isn’t working, then change your approach. I don’t know. I can’t help you.”

“You can help me by telling me what she tells you.”

“The answer is still _no_.” Eivor brushed by him and Dag. “You’re a grown man, brother. A smart man. You can figure it out for yourself. And stop listening to Dag for once. Maybe that will clear the clouds from around your head.”

* * *

The weather wasn’t getting any warmer. Although winter was supposed to be on its way out to make room for the start of spring, it seemed keen on lingering for just a while longer. The skies were gloomy and grey, bringing with them freezing rain or snowfall, further blanketing the already snowy paths and homes. Valka kept claiming that a storm was on the horizon, but no such ominous clouds seemed to be drawing near.

The nights were unforgiving, winds barreling by and all but smacking innocent pedestrians as they made their way through Fornburg. Randvi couldn’t remember ever feeling so cold at night—but she supposed that was her own fault. Sigurd had offered they share a bed, but Randvi declined until they were wed. So she slept on her own, wishing Thora was there so they could huddle together like they used to in order to brave the bitter winters.

On the days where it was clear, with the sun shining meekly, tiny scraps of warmth seeping through the foggy chill, Eivor would go out on patrol. It had been a while since she and Randvi hunted together, but she was almost weary to ask her since Sigurd had something up his ass about it—that something was most likely named Dag.

She was warming her bright pink nose on one of those patrols, wandering the borders of Fornburg on her own. Unlike her comrades, Eivor preferred to work alone. She didn’t like chattering when she was supposed to keep an eye out for enemies. Yet she wondered why she didn’t mind Randvi talking with her on a hunt, a task that required complete and total concentration.

Randvi wasn’t all that bad, she thought. She had a good head on her shoulders and a keen eye for her targets. Eivor genuinely enjoyed hunting with her the few times they did. It did genuinely surprise her when Randvi actually opened up to her about her sister.

Eivor didn’t know much about Randvi because, despite the small talk, Randvi actually didn’t say too much about her past. Hearing about Thora and how deeply Randvi missed her was the first time she opened to up to Eivor with such raw earnest. And by Sigurd’s ridiculous explosion about it, Randvi had not bothered to fill him in on any part of her life before their engagement.

It _was_ bound to be frustrating. Eivor was sympathetic toward Sigurd in that regard. When your betrothed refuses to talk about herself and you’re to be married soon? Sure, that would drive anyone mad. But, like she told Sigurd, she could also see it from Randvi’s perspective. Eivor didn’t know what she was doing differently, but she was not about to betray Randvi’s trust by divulging all she knew just so Sigurd wouldn’t have to work tirelessly for it.

The sun was high by the time Eivor was finished with her rounds, returning to the nearby barracks to switch with Njal. He looked like he had just woken from a nap, groggily waving at Eivor as he began his rounds. Eivor shook her head, thanking the gods that if anything were to happen, she would no longer be responsible. Not that anything was going to happen, of course. Winter patrols were dreadfully boring, and Eivor was dying to board her ship and sail away and find glory that didn’t sing of “that one time Eivor stopped a rabbit from getting into the crops”.

But Styrbjorn insisted that Eivor stay home for a time. And she listened, and got trapped in occasional guard duty.

As she made her way back into the village, she caught sight of Randvi sitting outside the longhouse, staring at the fjord as she often did. Eivor checked to see if Sigurd or Dag were nearby, not wanting another useless confrontation, and approached Randvi once the coast was clear.

“You look lonely,” Eivor said.

“Do I?” Randvi said, titling her head slightly, but still keeping her eyes fixed on the sea.

“May I join you?” Randvi gestured to the spot next to her. Eivor sat, twirling her thumbs as she watched the tide with her. “Sigurd isn’t trying to get you to talk today?”

“We already went on a stroll this morning.”

“Is that what he’s doing to get to know you? A walk about Fornburg?”

“He talks mainly of himself, pauses, and then talks some more.” Randvi glanced at Eivor. “Is it true that he took down—”

“A mother bear, and then attempted to raise her cub? No.” Eivor smirked. “He killed a bear, found a lost cub, tried to help it because he felt guilty, and then ended up running away from the cub's _actual_ mother. But he likes to twist the story around.”

“I see.” Randvi chuckled and shook her head. “A boastful one.”

“You learn fast. Although, that should have been obvious when he was shouting about your betrothal to anyone who would listen during the feast.”

“I thought those were just drunken ramblings.”

“That’s just the way he talks. The mead does him no favors.” Eivor leaned back in her seat, resting against the wall of the longhouse. “What is he doing wrong?”

Randvi frowned. “How do you mean?”

“He’s been trying to get me to essentially spy and collect information from you _about_ you. You’ve not been speaking to him about yourself?”

With a scoff, “I have been.” She got to her feet and paced in front of Eivor. “I suppose I haven’t been saying what he wants to hear.”

“Does he know about your sister?”

“Ah…” Randvi rubbed her palms together sheepishly. “He knows I have family back home.”

Eivor sighed. “Randvi, I won’t tell you how to talk to him, nor will I force you to tell him your deepest, darkest secrets…” She smiled slightly as Randvi let out a small laugh. “But throw the man a bone. He is to be your husband after all.”

“It’s that fact that makes me so…”

“Stubborn?”

Randvi narrowed her eyes at Eivor, who merely grinned teasingly. She sat back down beside Eivor. “Yes,” she admitted.

“He’s not out to hurt you,” Eivor reminded her gently.

“I know. There are just other factors at work. And you’re easier to talk to.”

“What makes me so different?”

A cold wind rippled across Fornburg, but Randvi did not shiver. The entire time she and Eivor were speaking, her cheeks felt rosy and the pain being so far from home did not burden her so. She rattled her brain, trying to think about why Eivor was different. She was more or less like most of the people here—once an enemy, now an ally born from an alliance.

Perhaps it _was_ how Eivor defended her the second Kaun offered Randvi to Sigurd. She spoke out so boldly, and it reminded Randvi of how she’d speak out of turn in the name of what she believed was right. Perhaps it was because Eivor reached out and talked to her that night of the feast, and though she overstepped, she still extended an olive branch for Randvi to accept if she wanted.

Yet she couldn’t quite put a finger on why Eivor was easier to get along with than Sigurd, and the poor man was doing his best. Eivor was practically doing nothing at all.

Randvi looked over her shoulder at Eivor, who was patiently— _patiently_ —waiting for a response. She did not shove, she did not command. She held her breath with respect. Randvi wondered how many people had that honor from someone who was so brash in nature.

There she sat, so poised yet rough around the edges. Blonde lashes that framed those blue eyes that dulled the ocean’s view. Hair braided with care despite the fact she might get blood in it in her next great battle. She had scars that she did not hide, nor had any reason to hide. They were mementos from those battles. Randvi desperately wanted to watch her throw her axe at something other than a grazing doe.

And there Randvi leaned forward, still fixed on Eivor from over her shoulder, pale blue eyes that reminded Eivor of a whispering river in the middle of the night. Wild auburn hair that she was sure burned on the battlefield like a pyre, alerting her foes to her onslaughts. Eivor could not see any visible scars, but she was curious if there were hidden ones somewhere underneath those furs and leathers. She still wanted to spar with her, if only to know how strong she was.

They stared at each other for a beat longer, Randvi swallowing hard and forcing herself to look back at the fjord. And Eivor blinked, turning her head down to focus on her crossed arms.

At long last, Randvi responded in a quiet voice, “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sincerely hoping they're not terribly out of character lol. Oh well! It's still been fun to write this fic for y'all.


	4. A Storm Rages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Tis the damn season for some snow in Norway.
> 
> In retrospect, I should have named each chapter after a song in evermore but whatever too late now.
> 
> Also sorry this took a hot minute to get to you all! I was doing some adulting for the past couple of weeks and didn't have time to write this out until this week.

Again, Eivor was at the tail end of her rounds in the morning. While she despised getting up so early, she didn’t mind the way her assignment forced her to wake up and embrace the rest of the day. Yet with the way she grumbled and scowled after her rounds, it was more like she was giving the day a half-hearted pat on the back rather than a full on embrace.

The skies were ominous, clouds swirling overhead with the threat of a storm, yet only gentle snowflakes tumbled to the ground. The wind teased the citizens of Fornburg, coming in sudden gusts that made one doting mother nearly lose her laundry that a guard had to go chasing down the path. It definitely bothered Eivor, her braid suddenly smacking her in the face when the wind blustered by. She drew up her hood in an attempt to keep everything in one place, but the wind came at her from the front and knocked her hood back. Eivor could have sworn she heard laughter from the wind as it whistled by her ears.

Njal took over for her, as usual, and Eivor was contemplating on returning to her home for a quick meal. Or perhaps a nap. Anything really to get nice and warm again. But before she took two steps into Fornburg, she froze as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. But in her haze, she had reacted a split second too late—

A pile of snow got friendly with the back of her head, ice dripping down her back. She let out a mangled blend of swears and whirled about face, ready to kill whoever thought that tossing a handful of snow at Eivor Wolf-Kissed was a good idea.

A laugh that was unfamiliar rang from a tree. Eivor, whose hand was inches from her sheathed axe, blinked bemusedly at the tree, her sluggish brain wondering if she had gone mad, or if it was the tree that had plopped the snow down onto her from its branches. After all, nature was in quite the mischievous mood today.

“Up here!” came that same laugh. Eivor looked up a bit higher, and found Randvi hanging off one of the sturdier branches. It was noticeably lacking in snow.

“What was that for?” Eivor demanded.

“You’re so grumpy.” Randvi knit her brows together and pursed her lips in an uncanny resemblance to how Eivor was glowering up at her right now. “Are you always so cross with the world?” She grinned down at Eivor. “And were you actually about to fight a tree? Seemed like you were.”

“And just what are _you_ doing up there in the first place?” Eivor asked, spreading her arms in disbelief.

“I was looking for you, actually. I wondered where you’d gone off so early. I asked around and they told me you were on patrol, so I waited. And here we are.” Randvi jumped down. Eivor panicked and almost reached out to catch her, but Randvi easily landed on her feet. But in her leap of faith, she brought along more snow from above, and it landed on Eivor once again.

“Fuck this tree!” Eivor complained. Randvi only laughed again and brushed some snow off Eivor’s shoulder.

“Don’t blame the tree for what falls on it.”

“No, but I _can_ blame you for shaking it all off.”

“If that eases you to sleep, Eivor.”

Eivor scoffed, following Randvi back into town. “You’re awfully happy this morning. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh with such fullness and sincerity.”

Randvi changed the subject. “Eivor, why don’t you take me hunting anymore? Have you grown tired of my company?”

“What? No, I haven’t. I just haven’t found the time. Not to mention, Sigurd’s becoming a pain in my—”

“Let’s go on a hunting trip.” Randvi stopped in her tracks and turned on her heel to look Eivor right in the eye. “I know you’re hiding the best hunting spots from me.”

“Is that why you were looking for me? To harass me about a hunting trip?”

“Yes.”

* * *

So that was that.

It didn’t take much further convincing on Randvi’s end to goad Eivor into the trip. Anything to get out of Fornburg’s borders sounded great to the both of them. So with supplies packed and weapons at the ready, Eivor and Randvi set off into the woods behind Fornburg. Part of Eivor was relieved that Sigurd or Dag hadn't spotted them leaving. The last thing she needed was another lengthy interrogation.

They traveled up river, boots crunching the snow beneath them. The clouds were still looming and dark. The snow still fell to earth, guided by the wind as it got braver with each gust. Eivor made Randvi swear that she wouldn’t involve Eivor in any further icy shenanigans. Randvi promised, but Eivor was quite certain that there had been an impish glint in her eye when she raised her hand as she swore.

No matter. They were out hunting again, Randvi taking the lead with an arrow nocked and ears strained for any foreign sounds that might guide her to their prey. Synin was, of course, circling overhead, Eivor focusing in on her feathered friend every now and again in hopes of finding something ahead of them.

They hadn't bagged any game yet, the animals scarce and the forest quiet. But a few hours into their hunt, they had tracked their way to a clump of trees and bushes where some rabbits were nibbling on the flora.

“Do you normally climb trees to throw snow at people?” Eivor asked quietly.

Randvi, who was aiming her arrow at an unsuspecting hare, smirked before making her shot. “Not normally to throw snow, but I did enjoy climbing them often when I was a child.” Her arrow grazed the hare, startling it, and it hopped away.

“Ah, such a wild thing you were, then,” Eivor said, laughing lightly.

“I was,” Randvi insisted, marching over to the trail of blood the hare left behind. She crouched and examined it carefully. “This way.” She followed after her prey, Eivor close behind.

“Were you a better shot than that when you were younger?” Eivor teased.

Randvi rolled her eyes. “You distracted me.”

Heavier snow started falling and got tangled in their hair. Eivor regarded the clouds and hummed, feeling the chill on the tips of her fingers just get a touch colder. Randvi was none the wiser, moving through the snow as silently as she could after the hare.

The wind grew vengeful and picked up speed. Snow flurries whooshed by, catching their cloaks and furs in the breeze. Both women clung to their clothes until the wind settled again. Eivor looked back up, blinking away the flurries that stuck to her lashes.

"Perhaps we should return to Fornburg," said Eivor slowly.

"We still have to find the hare. I'm close, I'm sure of it. We need at least one thing to show for our efforts."

“Hurry up then, Randvi."

“Right.” Randvi rushed forward, Eivor hot on her heels.

Randvi looked for the tracks, but they were hard to spot as more snow began to collect atop the dirty layers. She found a bit of blood and followed after that instead, hoping to the gods that it belonged to the creature she was seeking. Somewhere to their right was the distant song of the river, and Eivor took note of it in case they got lost, which was becoming more and more likely the further they walked.

Another blast of wind, and they shielded their faces from the violent onslaught. Up above, Synin cawed and flew out of sight to seek safety. Eivor, panicked and without her closest companion and guide, tried to see where she had gone, but to no avail. The wind was getting stronger and the snow was growing heavier.

“Eivor, you're right, I don’t think we’ll be able to find that hare,” Randvi shouted over the wind. “We should turn back!”

“It's too late now. We’ll be dead if we do,” said Eivor, stealing a look over her shoulder. It was getting harder to see, the snow plummeting and swirling in droves. Without Synin, it was difficult to tell which way was the right way, and their footprints had vanished beneath the new layers of snow. “Let’s look for a cave or something—any sign of shelter.”

With great effort, they sloshed forward. The blizzard swelled, the world turning white the further they walked. Eivor could hardly keep her eyes open, but she forced herself to glare through the ice stabbing at her face so Randvi would remain in her sights.

Each plod was a bit slower, each gust of wind to their faces was a bit colder. Eivor could have sworn her fingers and lips were turning blue. Randvi grit her teeth, guarding her face but trying to keep her eyes uncovered to see where she was going. They could barely hear anything over the roar of the storm, and the river Eivor made note of had gone silent.

Through the billowing weather, Randvi managed to catch a glimpse of a clearing, the trees around them growing sparse. She reached behind her, still looking forward, flexing her fingers and hoping that Eivor would understand.

And she did.

She grabbed Randvi’s hand and let her guide her forward, putting all her faith in her. And so Randvi pressed on, brushing her other hand against a nearby tree, bracing herself for another mighty flurry. Eivor's hand shivered in her own, and she curled her fingers a little tighter around Eivor's in a sorry attempt to warm her. She cursed herself for leading them so far for a hare that escaped. The lack of animals should have been a warning that the weather was going to turn sour. But alas, there they were, stuck in a blizzard, and all because Randvi wanted to go hunting.

A sudden bang caught her attention and tore her from her small pity party. At first, she was startled, wondering if it was an oncoming threat. But when it happened again, it almost sounded familiar. Like wood. She strained her ears, waiting for it once more.

_Bang!_

No doubt about it, Randvi recognized it as window shutters slamming against a frame. She had once squawked at Thora for leaving them open one night during a wind storm, nearly waking up the entire village. Randvi desperately made for the noise.

Indeed, the closer she walked, the louder the banging got. She yanked Eivor forward. Through a brief gap in the storm, Randvi spotted it. It was a small building, windows thrown open so the wind could use them as its personal drum. Nevertheless, it was shelter. The gap swirled shut as snow billowed in nonsense directions, but Randvi had seen enough of it to know where she had to go.

With a little more plodding, a little more grunting as the flurries smacked them in the face, they reached the door to the hut. Not taking any chances in checking if it was locked, Randvi hauled her shoulder against it. The door burst open, Randvi and Eivor tumbling inside, the screams of the storm muffled with four walls around them. Eivor immediately turned on her heel and slammed the door shut behind them, Randvi rushing toward the open windows and closing them, too. The snow that had chased after them melted on the old wood floor.

It was dark inside, so it took a moment for their eyes to adjust. It was difficult to tell just how long it had been uninhabited, but a fine layer of dust covering most surfaces told tales of a time long ago. It was a one room house. There was a bed made of hay shoved in one corner, some thin blankets and a couple of forgotten furs drooping off the side. A small hearth with a dingy cooking pot was on the other side of the room. A few broken yet useful chairs were littered around, and a pile of more dusty cooking wear was shoved on a shelf. There was a small draft from the slightly open slats on the sides of the roof, but not cold enough to be unbearable. Besides, it was a tropical paradise inside compared to what was waiting for them outside.

“Looks like this is our shelter until the storm dies off,” said Eivor. “Let me see if I can at least make us some sort of fire.”

“It's a shame I couldn’t snag the hare in time,” said Randvi, leaning against the wall. “We’d at least have something to eat.”

“I have a few rations in my pack that should get us by. Hopefully this storm won’t last terribly long.”

Eivor grabbed a broken stools and made for the hearth, hoping the wood wasn’t too rotten. She slammed the stool against the wall, and it splintered, but did not fall apart completely. It would have to do. Eivor slammed it again and it broke, offering itself in its new purpose as firewood. She got rid of the cooking pot and prepped the hearth for the fire.

Meanwhile, Randvi took a careful look around the house, poking at things with her feet and flipping them over. Each step she took made the floor cough up a bit of dust. The room smelled old and musty—like wet leather or straw caught in the rain. Damp, but not terribly unpleasant.

The room was suddenly bathed in a warm, orange glow. A fire cracked and popped in the hearth, singeing the dust Eivor couldn’t quite get rid of. Soon the fire calmed into pleasant swaying, only popping every so often. Eivor heaved a great sigh and unloaded her equipment. Randvi did the same before eagerly rushing to the fire and warming the palms of her hands. She and Eivor sat in front of it, silently listening to the wind outside and the breaking of the firewood.

“I have to apologize—this is not how I saw our trip going,” said Randvi humorously.

“Did you summon the blizzard?” Eivor asked.

Randvi smiled crookedly. “I didn’t.”

“Then you’re not at fault. And we’re alive, aren’t we?” said Eivor, chuckling. “Thank the gods you managed to find this place in time.”

“I suppose I have some luck on my side despite everything.”

“I should say so.”

Randvi hummed but said no more. She pulled her knees up to her chest and stared into the glowing embers. Eivor took this as a sign to let the silence grow and give Randvi a moment to think. After all, their venture through the blizzard was rather exhausting. She warmed her hands a bit more instead, sniffling as dust fluttered across the room thanks to the new activity.

The old house groaned. The windows rattled but held strong. Once her hands were warm enough, Eivor got to her feet for a lap around their haven, drinking in the room. She wasn’t sure if it was her clan that had built it, or perhaps someone nomadic who passed through these parts once in a blue moon, but it was certainly fortunate that Randvi heard it over the screaming winds.

By the state of things, it was abandoned perhaps five years ago. Though it had been use for far longer since the furniture was well-loved. Eivor paused by the bed and lifted one of the furs to shake it out. She coughed as dust practically exploded from the hairs. She pressed on and did the same to the rest, though. Once the storm died down, she thought, she could air these out properly. This house could prove to be useful in the future, and she was keen on taking advantage of it when she needed to escape Fornburg for a while.

She looked over at Randvi, still sitting pensively before the flames. She seemed so small, silhouetted with only the glow of the fire existing as an outline of her figure. Even with spring drawing near, Randvi didn’t appear to be ready at all to lay in a bed with Sigurd as her husband. There was still so much ferocity trapped and clawing behind her eyes. Yet it had to be tamed long before its time.

Eivor felt for her now more than ever. And she wondered if, despite the snow storm, Randvi was relieved to be so far away from Fornburg and the responsibilities she was burdened with once she was back within the borders.

Maybe this house could be an escape for Randvi, too.

Eivor made her way to her belongings and got out her rations. She sat back down beside Randvi and handed her some dried meat. Randvi ignored it, not taking her eyes off the fire.

“You’re going to go blind from staring into the flames until morning,” said Eivor, trying to lighten the mood.

“Would that be so wrong?” Randvi said hollowly.

“It might, but who am I to say for certain. Blindness is not always a burden. But I’ll admit—I feel as though you’re being a little dramatic after such a grand success in finding our shelter.” She nudged Randvi's shoulder. "Come now, where's the Randvi who dropped snow on me this morning?"

"Perhaps I lost her in the blizzard."

"So soon? I was quite enjoying that side of you." Eivor frowned with concern. "Randvi? You know you can tell me anything, right? I thought I made that very clear."

"I suppose I'm just tired."

"I can tell there's something else bothering you now."

Now doused in the light of the fire, Randvi was nothing short of a frightened young woman who was staring toward an uncertain future, never mind the path she was taking was clear and ready made. But _that_ was the problem. It was not one she paved for herself. She had been forcibly ripped from it and set down on the one with signs pointing toward expectations and alliances and politics. That was something Randvi had run through her head time and time again when sleep did not come easily. And it was becoming clear to Eivor the longer she examined her friend, still staring distantly into the fire.

It was odd after such a playful morning that Randvi had fallen to this state. Maybe the adrenaline from the will to survive had burned her out. Or, perhaps being so far from Fornburg, out of sight of anyone who might detect a weakness and pounce or demand why she was having doubts, Randvi was allowing herself a moment of emotional respite.

“I wish…” Randvi started, and Eivor caught sight of tears shining in Randvi’s eyes. “I wish there was another way to forge an alliance.”

“There are plenty of ways,” said Eivor. “Just none that seemed like an immediate fix. Offering you, as much as I hate to say it, was the best they could do without anyone else dying for it. I tried to get Styrbjorn to see that, but he said this was the best way.”

“Fine. I understand that offering land was out of the question for either party. Livestock and silver wouldn’t cut it. Marriages to form alliances are the simplest way to go about these things.” Randvi snarled. “And a part of me wants to feel honored by the responsibility. Kaun clearly thought I was the best he had to offer and help maintain peace between our people, but…” She let out a strangled cry that echoed throughout the house. Even Eivor jumped, nearly dropping her rations. “I hate this! I hate all of it!”

Tears steadily rushed down her cheeks, finally freeing _everything_. Randvi bolted to her feet and stood in the center of the room, balling her fists as she let loose another scream. And another. She was drowning out the sound of the storm with every furious cry. Eivor stared, flabbergasted and stupefied. Unlike her temper tantrum where she lobbed axes across the woods, this was pure, raw anger. Everything she had pent up inside was now escaping as though someone shot an arrow through a cursed totem jammed in her chest.

Then, as though possessed, Eivor stood and approached her like she was navigating through the winds again. Without saying anything, Eivor carefully turned Randvi around and embraced her. She didn't know if this would do any good, but it was the only thing she could think to do. And to her surprise and relief, Randvi hugged her back, clinging to her like a lifeline, and cried into Eivor’s shoulder.

They stood there for a while, Randvi unable to bring herself to let Eivor go. She was warm and smelled of leather and the cinders from their fire, comforting and strong. Eivor held her, steadfast and without judgement, her nose in Randvi's hair. Her heart ached for Randvi and wished she could do more than just hold her.

Finally, slowly, Randvi’s shoulders slowed their shaking. Her broken sobs turned back into calmer breathing. And though her face, unsticking itself from Eivor’s shoulder, was red and blotchy, there were no more tears to spare today. Eivor brushed the hairs that stuck to Randvi’s face away, smiling softly.

“I am sorry, Randvi,” she whispered. “And I know—it is no fault of mine that you are in this situation. But I am still sorry that it has come to this for you. I cannot change it, but I can try to be there for you just as I am here for you now.”

Randvi blinked slowly and her lip trembled, but did not shed another tear. She simply hugged Eivor again. It had been so long since she had been met with such a tender embrace. A part of her wished it was Thora, but every other fiber of her being was glad it was Eivor. Because Eivor was warm, because her arms seemed to wrap all the way around Randvi and made her feel small for once, and because it made her heart skip a beat whenever her breath tickled her ear.

Eivor did not let her go until Randvi felt as though she was ready. She hoped that the pace of her heart—racing and wild—was not felt by Randvi. It was dizzying and confusing, yet it felt divine to be holding Randvi despite the original intentions behind their closeness. So she let herself enjoy it for what it was, deciding to tuck these emotions away for another day once they finally broke apart. And it was strangely colder than before when Randvi let go.

“How long do you think this storm will last?” said Randvi, back to business as usual.

“I’m not sure. But we won’t be getting back to Fornburg today, that’s is certain.” Eivor looked around the room again. “Maybe we should get some rest until then.”

“We should huddle together for warmth. That fire isn’t going to last all night.”

“Uh—yes… warmth.” And here Eivor thought she was going to compartmentalize whatever the hell was going on in her head. “I didn’t bring a bedroll or—”

“The dusty bed should do fine,” Randvi reasoned, wiping her cheeks. “I will take some rations now, though. I think I cried up an appetite.”

Eivor smiled slightly. “Fair.”

They returned to the fire, and Eivor assumed Randvi was going to play the “pretend none of that just happened” game. A game Eivor was very familiar with. They ate in silence, Randvi sniffling every so often and rubbing her finger under her nose. Eivor would spare her a glance or two, but was glad to see that tears no longer burdened her friend tonight.

The fire was starting to die away. Eivor poked at it, adding a couple of additional scraps of wood from the broken chair, but it was barely enough to keep it alive. They kept sitting there, waiting for it to fade out on its own so they could enjoy the warmth it provided for as long as they could.

“I know I keep saying this,” said Randvi, voice rough, “but thank you, Eivor. For all you’ve done for me. Ever since I arrived, you’ve treated me with respect and kindness. It was more than I asked for, and far more than I hoped to receive from people that I once fought against.” She turned her eyes onto Eivor, who suddenly felt a shudder bolt down her spine the second their gazes locked. Randvi looked so pretty with the fire dancing in her eyes and the flickering light catching in her hair. “So, thank you. For everything.”

Eivor swallowed and tried to find her words. A familiar tug in her gut told her to reach out and swaddle Randvi in another long embrace. Her head chided her, reminding her that Randvi was not an available woman. And yet…

“Of course,” Eivor forced out. “I value our friendship to the highest regard.”

Randvi beamed at her and scooted closer so their arms were against one another. Eivor took in a quiet breath, hoping to the gods that these feelings stirring deep within her were only spurred on by the trick of the light.

* * *

In order to keep warm, as Randvi had said earlier, they had to huddle together for the night. Eivor had tried to convince Randvi that she was fine to snooze in a corner while Randvi took the bed, but somehow she was eventually convinced to share the grimy piece of bedding in the end.

At least, Eivor thought, they were still in their full leathers and furs. And at least, she kept telling herself as she and Randvi rested side by side, they were not locked together by their limbs. And _at least_ , as she woke the next morning, the blizzard had died off and she could hide the chaotic and confusing day in the back of her mind to deal with at a later time.

She sat up and rubbed at a knot at the base of her neck. The bed was not terribly comfortable, but she was sure it was definitely better than the corner she had offered to hide away in. The house was still a bit dim apart from the cracks in the walls and ceiling that allowed the sun to shine through and cast beams all along the room. It could definitely use a clean, Eivor noted, watching dust swirl and dance in the light.

Randvi moved beside her, turning away from the wall to face Eivor. She was still sound asleep, and Eivor had a funny feeling that it was all thanks to hunting, running from a blizzard, scrambling to keep their shelter safe, and crying into Eivor’s shoulder.

Eivor looked down at her and was unable to look away once she started to study her every detail. It wasn’t fair that Randvi had to face this new challenge almost entirely alone. It wasn’t fair that she had to avoid and evade the intrusive nature of Sigurd, despite the fact it as not his intention to come off as such. Eivor wanted to help her, protect her (even though she knew full well that Randvi didn’t actually _need_ any protection, but still).

That something stirred again, and Eivor did all she could to brush it away, yet made no moves to get off the bed and glue herself to the other side of the room. Instead, she lied back down and stared at the ceiling and spent the next few minutes before Randvi would wake doing her best to deny any and all emotions regarding Randvi, no matter how pleasant they made her feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love y'all. Thanks for hanging in there. Stay beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated, but not necessary.
> 
> Stay lovely and game on!


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